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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26711314">The Smell of A Witcher</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle/pseuds/AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle'>AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Scent Kink, Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:01:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,115</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26711314</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle/pseuds/AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt had no idea how he had landed himself with Jaskier. Nor did he look that far into it. It didn't seem to matter all that much. Given how close the two of them had gotten. And, it seemed, that they were going to get even closer.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>244</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Smell of A Witcher</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First time writing for The Witcher fandom. This fic is short, and combines elements from the books, games, and the Netflix series. Basically, it was just an excuse to write 6,000 words of angsty Geralt with some fluff and smut for good measure. I hope you enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Smell of a Witcher</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Geralt was not a particularly loquacious or eloquent man. At least, not by terms of what most normal people would consider. Among his fellow Witchers, he was just fine. For the most part, he communicated in grunts and growls. (Depending on with whom he was speaking with.) If there was an occasion that required actual words, he kept it concise and to the point.</p>
<p>      Which made it all the stranger that a man such as Jaskier had, somehow, become his traveling companion. The bard was, by all considerations, the exact opposite of the Witcher. Loud. Intrusive. Enitirely flamboyant. Silver tongued. Geralt, despite his most exhaustive efforts, did not know what to do with the man. As he was more than determined to see himself at Geralt’s side. No matter what monsters they may have faced.</p>
<p>   For the most part, their routine was fairly concise and simple. Geralt killed what needed killing. Which, given the state of the world, was plenty. As the only Witcher to survive the most extensive of the mutations, he was able to kill most things rather easily. Making sure that his coin purse stayed full. Even if people disliked Witchers, or even outright hated them, a monster that ate your children was a far less preferable thing to have around.</p>
<p>     Jaskier’s job, as a bard, was to provide entertainment and merriment. When it suited him. He was also, on more than one occasion, able to see that their lodgings were better than they were. Most people, given the chance, would tell Geralt to go sleep in the stables with his horse. Jaksier, being the kind of man he was, often charmed them into thinking otherwise.</p>
<p>      The Witcher, while often annoyed the man’s antics, appreciated the lodging. Even if the beds were shit, and the room smelled of stale air. It was better than sleeping in the muck and piss of horses and pigs. So, even though the man offered nothing but coin and his occasional, albeit short conversation, Gerlat seemed to be stuck with Jaskier.</p>
<p>      This time around he had been hunting a basilisk. Damn dangerous creatures, and most often, talked about it entirely the wrong fashion. There was an old saying in the stories of basilisks. That the only way to kill one would be to hold a mirror in front of its face. Thus diverting its unyielding, petrifying gaze. Witchers, most often, would find it a better choice to smash the mirror over the beast’s head.</p>
<p>      Basilisks, in no way, could turn anything to stone. That being said, there were plenty of other ways one could die. Its venom for one. Even the most experienced, hardened Witchers could not entirely resist its effects. Which, for a normal person, meant death within minutes. For a Witcher, agonizing pain, and an ample amount of paralysis to go with it.</p>
<p>      Geralt, having killed several in his time, was by no means going in unprepared. He knew the best ways and magics to kill the damn thing. Even still, he had to get close enough to cut off its head. Which was the best method. Not too many beasts that could survive that.</p>
<p>    When it was all said and done, he managed to kill the damn thing. Not without suffering three broken ribs. Countless slashes, and enough venom in his blood to kill a normal man three times over. It was painful enough, even with his countermeasures in place.</p>
<p>     Even still, he skins the beast. Making sure to get every last bit of its hide. Basilisk leather was both fashionable and practical. Very few other beats could make an armor so fine. Geralt would gladly pay a tanner more than enough to make him a set. What was leftover could be easily sold to anyone looking to buy. For which there were plenty.</p>
<p>     The venom was also quite valuable. Alchemists and assassins alike desired it. Used correctly, just a few drops could poison a weapon that would stay lethal for years. Even the tiniest nick could prove fatal. In the right hands that is. Geralt leaned away from the assassin type. Instead favoring alchemists. Who often put the venom to far greater, and less dubious uses.</p>
<p>     When it manages to trudge himself back into town, there is a small crowd clamoring away. Looking to get a peek at the beast’s head. He drops the thing in front of the mayor’s feet. Departing towards the inn he was staying at. In desperate need of a bath.</p>
<p>     Jaskier was in the middle of it all. Playing a happy tune. Cheeks flushed red with a slight drunkenness. Geralt hated him when he got like this. The bard was loud enough on a good day. Now, in such a state, he was entirely too damn much.</p>
<p>     The Witcher hardly has time to make his way towards his room before the bard comes walking over. (Closer to stumbling.) He throws an arm over Geralt’s shoulder. Loudly congratulating him on a good hunt. Singing his praises for all to hear. Most of the people by the hearth ignore him. Even if he had been hired to do a job, and had indeed rid them of a vicious beast, he was still a Witcher.</p>
<p>    Jaskier seems to never see or hear any of it. The entire time, his arm stays over Geralt’s shoulder. That’s the thing about Jaskier. The touching. All. The. Damn. Touching. He constantly seemed to be touching Geralt in one form or another. It was…infuriating. Mostly.</p>
<p>      Geralt was unique among Witchers. His eyes were gold. His hair as white as milk. Those two features alone let people know that he wasn’t human. As a result, most places he went, the people were wary of him. If not just downright nasty. Women and men alike often moved away when he walked past. Even on the rare occasions that he would pay for a night, the ladies rarely seemed to enjoy it.</p>
<p>     Jaskier was different though. The man was friendly and affectionate in ways that Geralt had rarely experienced in his life. Being trained as a Witcher meant long days and longer nights. Some, without any human contact whatsoever. And what contact he did receive was often in the form of beatings and combat training.</p>
<p>      To be so casually touched in this way…He didn’t have the words for how it made him feel. The way that Jaskier made him feel. It was a strange thing. People often said how Witchers were emotionless monsters. Mutants. Abominations. So on. Geralt was, indeed yes, a mutant. That was clear cut and dry. But he still had emotions. It was just, over the years, he had learned to ignore the vile things that people said about him.</p>
<p>      “You smell like a Witcher.” Jaskier said, his words slightly slurred. He wouldn’t be singing for much longer.</p>
<p>“Then unhand me bard. As I was just about to have a bath.”</p>
<p>     Geralt shook himself loose of the other man. Thankfully, his room was equipped with a decently sized wooden tub. The water was a pain to fetch. But easy enough to heat with his magics. The first dip into the water made him wheeze ever so slightly. The stinging of his broken ribs panging through quite loudly.</p>
<p>      Geralt was never all that concerned with cleanliness. He was a Witcher. That meant that he often ended up covered in guts, blood, and flesh at the end of his job. Simply washing himself in a river was good enough. Damn cold most of the time. But it was better than the putrid stench of rotten monster clinging to him.</p>
<p>     Jaksier was entirely and completely different. The man was always washed and perfumed. Wearing finery the likes of which Geralt never had. Nor desired for that reason. The bard’s clothes were of an outlandish nature. Bright and covered in frills and lace. The Witcher favored his leather armor. Wasn’t all that great if it came to a fight with swords and daggers. As a skilled blade user knew how to strike.</p>
<p>     But against fangs and claws…the sturdy material was enough to keep his limbs intact and attached to him. That, he favored. Needless to say, when standing next to or even in the remote vicinity of Jaskier, Geralt always looked a little bit homely.</p>
<p>   He simply uses the cheapest soap he could find. Rinsing himself of the dirt and sweat that he had accumulated. As well as the blood that spattered across him. When it was all said and done, the Witcher combed out his hair. Ready to sleep. He often thought of cutting it. But couldn’t be bothered with the idea at the moment. His main concern, at the moment, was sleep and trying to find someone to buy the basilisk parts come the morning.</p>
<p>     Sleep had never been an easy thing for Geralt. Years being trained as a Witcher, and even more years living as one had taught him several things. Firstly, and chiefly, there’s always something looking to kill you. And it wasn’t always monsters. There had been, more than a few times, that an ordinary human had tried to kill Geralt in his sleep.</p>
<p>    Tonight, however, that was not the case. Yes, a man did indeed come intruding in his room. Only, it was by no means a quiet, stealthy, would be assassin. Instead, it was a very drunk, very unsteady Jaskier. Geralt regretted taking him as a traveling companion now more than ever.</p>
<p>    The bard collapses into the bed next to Geralt. Wine sodden. His breath reeking of alcohol. His skin permeated with lust. Jaskier was renowned, across the continent, as the biggest whoremonger than ever lived. He would bed every woman he could swoon. From milkmaids, to ladies up high. More than once, Geralt had to save the man from the consequences of thinking with his cock.</p>
<p>    “Get out my damn bed, bard.”</p>
<p>“Louisee, don’t be so cold hearted. Let me cradled my head in your bosom.” Jakier’s words were decidedly slurred now.</p>
<p>     Geralt had not one fucking clue who Louisee was. Perhaps one of the tavern wenches. It didn’t matter. He simply rolled over. Doing his best to ignore the drunken rumblings of the man he had reluctantly come to know.</p>
<p>     When the first rays of the morning began to peek through the windows, Geralt felt a warmth across his chest. Sometime in the night, the damn bard had laid himself across the Witcher. Snoring atop of him. Without so much as a care in the world. Soft features even softer in sleep. The delicate florals of his scent seeping into Geralt’s nose. He was both annoyed, and couldn’t get enough of the sight.</p>
<p>      “Jaskier, wake up. Jaskier. Jaskier!”</p>
<p>With the raising of his voice, Geralt was able rouse the bard from the deepness of his sleep. The man bolts up. Stuttering to himself. Eyes dredged with the after effects of the alcohol. And the suddenness of him awakening. Geralt found himself greatly amused by it.</p>
<p>      “You’re not Louisee.”</p>
<p>“No, Jaskier. I am most certainly not. You came in here last night, bumbling about before collapsing into my bed. You ridiculous drunkard.” Geralt was smiling ever so slightly.</p>
<p>       “Nonsense. Just because I enjoy a good drink, doesn’t make me a drunkard.”</p>
<p>“Says the man who mistook a Witcher for a tavern wench.”</p>
<p>      Jaskier, in all his quippiness, did not have a response to that. Instead, the man lifts himself from the bed. Stretching out. Trying his best to rid himself of the aches that often came from drinking too much. Geralt found his eyes lingering just a little too long. Especially after Jaskier’s tunic rode up ever so slightly. Revealing the barest peek at his belly.</p>
<p>       “Well, thanks for ensuring the protection of my virtue. If nothing else.”</p>
<p>“Your virtue was long gone before you met me, bard.” Geralt snipped.</p>
<p>     Jaskier just laughed. Bidding the Witcher a farewell with a smile and a wave. He was an interesting man. Certainly like no one he had ever met before. Even with all his years as a Witcher, Jaskier stood out among the men that Geralt had met and travelled with.</p>
<p>    Deciding to get on with the day, he rises from the bed. Only the barest hint of pain emanating from his side. Witchers, the ones that survived the process anyway, were granted a great range of abilities. Enhanced senses for one thing. Geralt could see, hear, smell, and move better than any man could ever hope for.</p>
<p>      Another wonderful bonus was the advanced healing. Granted, there were indeed limitations to its effects. For one thing, he had to be mostly alive for it to work. Thankfully, a few broken ribs wasn’t all that much to be concerned about. By midday, the pain would subside, and he would be back to normal. Right now, though, he wanted something to eat.</p>
<p>     The air had a slight chill that came with the morning. Winter would be upon them soon enough. The most dreaded season on the Continent. Even the southern countries suffered bitter cold and terrible winds. The north was often buried in snow and ice. Hardly a living thing in sight. Geralt hated that time of year because of the lack of coin.</p>
<p>    He also rather enjoyed it. As it allowed him to see his brothers again. They would spend the cold months isolated in the halls of Kaer Morhen. Exchanging tales of the monsters they had slain. The women they had bedded. And the coin that they had earned.</p>
<p>     It was also the time he would have to part with Jaskier. Kaer Morhen was no place for a bard. Certainly not one like Jaskier. He was far too soft and far too pretty to keep company with a group of Witchers. Especially Vesemir. Who would, no doubt, question why Geralt brought an outsider to begin with.</p>
<p>       The day is early, but the streets of the town are already lined with an ample amount of people. Geralt finds a tanner right away. Part dwarf, by the build of him. The man is perfectly happy, excited even, to make Geralt a new set of armor. Basilisk leather was rare these days, and with it, the opportunity to work with it.</p>
<p>      The other materials were the fangs, venom, eyes, and some of the meat. Basilisk was damn tough when cooked improperly. But it was fatty enough, with a strong taste. Someone would look to buy it. If not, then he would just cure it, and save it for winter.</p>
<p>      There were very few people that Geralt was interested in selling the venom to. Even if he couldn’t sense their bloodlust, it wasn’t such a thing that a common man should have. So, he went to the furthest outreaches of the town.</p>
<p>       There was a little shack. Just tucked away in the trees. The alchemist inside was rather enthused about the idea of the basilisk venom. He gave Geralt an entire satchel of coin for just a few vials of it. That was more than suitable. And the Witcher left without selling much of anything else. Only a fool would buy the eyes of a basilisk. And, as of yet, he hadn’t found such a fool.</p>
<p>    Once back in the town square, he found himself some good food. There was a little old woman with any even littler stall. She baked all manner of pies. The ones filled with meat and cheese were his favorite. She was also one of the only people that did not look at Geralt as if he had crawled out of the deepest reaches of the underworld.</p>
<p>   Namely, because she was as blind as a bat. How she managed to work with knives and a burning hot oven, he didn’t know. But she never failed to produce some damn good pies in the few days he had been in town. He buys seven of them. As well as some of her leftover buckwheat and carrots. Roach would be hungry as well. And he was never one to neglect his horse.</p>
<p>     The inn was mostly awake by the time he returned. People fussing about for one thing or another. Maids milking and stable boys sloughing out shit. It was all very lively. Most of them ignored Geralt as he made his way back inside. Ready to tally the items he had, and what he needed to procure before heading towards Kaer Morhen. Arriving without ample supplies landed one on hunting duty for the season. And hunting in that damn awful weather…Geralt would have rather faced a hoard of werewolves.</p>
<p>       The main thing was cured meats and vegetables. The keep was near the river, so they could gather plenty of water if and when they needed it. There was also the matter of wine skins. Geralt wasn’t all that much for needless drunkenness. Yes, after a long hunt, and nasty injuries, he enjoyed enough ale to down a horse. But not every day. And certainly not as much as some of his brothers enjoyed.</p>
<p>     There would be plenty of opportunities to sell more of the basilisk on the way to Kaer Morhen. And that would supply him with plenty of coin atop everything else. At the very least, he would have that. He kept one or two vials of the venom for himself. There were a few mixtures he could make. Coat a few daggers or small knives. Make for a quick kill if he needed it.</p>
<p>     He was just sorting things out when there was a knock at the door. The action itself was what confused Geralt. Jaskier would have barged in without asking. Anyone else wouldn’t have even come close to the door. He had been at the inn for three days. And not once, not once, had anyone other than Jaskier come to his room.</p>
<p>      When he opens the door, it was someone Geralt had not suspected in the slightest. She was one of the girls working at the inn. Small for her age. A little on the thing side. Bright blonde hair and eyes that were a luscious forest green. She kept them towards the floor.</p>
<p>     “Yes?” He tried to keep his voice at a level that humans wouldn’t find him frightening. It didn’t always work.</p>
<p>“Your friend…the bard…he’s found himself in a spot of trouble, Mr.Witcher.”</p>
<p>      Geralt didn’t bother asking what kind of trouble. He just grabs his steel sword. Barreling past the young woman. Slipping her a bit of coin for her troubles. He hated having to kill things first in the morning. Especially right after he ate.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Jaskier had, indeed, found himself in a bit of trouble. More than a bit, from the looks of it. He was currently being held upright by a large statured man. Scars rippling across his face. Cheeks an angry red. Chest heaving with great breaths. It was rather clear what was going on. Geralt wouldn’t need his sword for this.</p>
<p>      “Wassu think you doin, messing around my Louisse?” The man’s voice was thick with illiteracy and ignorance. A ‘hick’ type if there ever was one.</p>
<p>“Pardon me, sir. I did not know what Louisse was spoken for. Please, I beg you, put me down!”</p>
<p>      Jaskier had, once again, allowed his cock to get him into trouble. This wasn’t the first time Geralt had gotten him out of trouble. And it wouldn’t be the last. Men of all stations had a great hatred for the bard. His pretty face, silver tongue, and talent with the lute often landed him a bedding with little effort needed. It certainly made him popular with the ladies. With their husbands, not so much.</p>
<p>    “You can unhand the bard, or I can cut your hand off. Choose quickly.”</p>
<p>The man looked at Geralt with a certain brand of disdain. Witchers were very seldom liked. This one certainly didn’t care for him. He could see the gears turning inside the man’s head. He was, as much as one of that nature could, thinking of the best way to kill him.</p>
<p>     It was enough of a distraction for Jaskier. Who took the time to sock the man right in his balls. The sudden shock of pain released the grip that had been holding the bard tight. Who then promptly scrambled away. Geralt didn’t bother wasting any of his time.</p>
<p>    He punched the man straight in his gut. Kicking his legs out from under him. Ensuring that he fell as hard as he possibly could. The nameless man falls with a grunt. The breath knocked out of him. Wheezing as his face was now entirely plum red.</p>
<p>       “Apologies for the bard’s whore mongering. But next time, you touch him, you won’t have hands to touch with.”</p>
<p>Geralt made a point to place his sword at the man’s throat. Emphasizing the exact nature of his threat. Of which he would fully deliver if needed. He and Jaskier did not always get along. That was a given. But, so long as the bard didn’t do anything too outlandish, the Witcher would do his best to protect him.</p>
<p>   The man stays on the ground as Geralt walks away. Clearly knowing that his neck or other limbs were on the line. Jaskier is fumbling about. Erratic and entirely too damn loud. The Witcher holds him still. Inspecting to make sure that the bard isn’t injured in any way. All the damage appears to have been done to the man’s tunic. Which now has several sizable tears in it.</p>
<p>     “Go back to your room, Jaskier. And try, do fucking try, to keep your cock in your pants”</p>
<p>The man just nods. Hoping off to what Geralt hoped was the inn. Jaskier was never known for listening, or having a single, discernable trace of good sense. But even with how much he liked to play and fiddle around, part of him was still scared of Geralt. And, to a point, would listen to the man.</p>
<p>      The crowd that had gathered begins to disperse. Leaving Geralt alone with his sword, and a simmering anger that had begun to dissipate. He had no idea why he felt so protective over Jaskier. There was no real reason to. They hadn’t known each other for all that long. There wasn’t enough between them for Geralt to feel the way he did.</p>
<p>    Yes, Jaskier infuriated him. More often than not. But in reality, he also felt a strange tinge in his gut at the idea of anything bad happening to him. It was a strange combination of feelings. One he didn’t fully understand as of yet. All he did know, was that he needed to finish preparing for winter.</p>
<p>       After placing his sword back in his room, the Witcher makes his way back into town. No one pays him any mind or care. There was a wine master nearby. He purchases an ample amount of the man’s skin. He never was for wine. But by the smell, it’s sweet and would more than happily satisfy his brothers.</p>
<p>       Leaving, he comes across a small, out of the way shop. Dim, compared to the others. Unassuming was the word he would have used. Upon entering, his nose is assaulted by a myriad of scents. It was a soap and oil shop. One that had plenty to offer. Given that the sheer breadth of the scents made him dizzy.</p>
<p>      “Never would’ve suspected a Witcher to come round my place.”</p>
<p>The shopkeeper was ancient. At least, by human standards. He was gray haired, and crinkled skin. Liver spots that looked more like liver mounds. Geralt had lived a long time, and seen plenty of old people. But this man…he had to be at least a hundred by human years.</p>
<p>      “You have anything with lavender?”</p>
<p>Geralt ignored the shopkeeper’s curiosity with regards to his status as a Witcher. He didn’t feel like dealing with it today. The man simply shows him what he has to offer. Apparently, lavender was difficult to grow around these parts. So, naturally, anything made with it was going to cost extra.</p>
<p>     The Witcher doesn’t hesitate and throws down twice the coin the man wants. Earning himself some free soaps and oils. Disliking florals for himself, Geralt instead purchases several bottles of pine oil. The man had always loved the smell of the forest. Even as a boy. The shopkeeper also gives him something for his hair.</p>
<p>    According to the man, it was meant to make it soft and silky. Geralt never paid all that much attention to how his hair felt. But he took it regardless. Leaving after spending more coin than he should have. It was seemingly worth it.</p>
<p>     After getting back to his room for the second time that day, he draws another bath. Just because he can. After, one again, saving Jakier’s ass, he needed a little bit of relaxation. The water is warm and the oils that he had purchased are fragrant. He only needs but a few drops before the whole tub is swirling with soft curls steam that smelled like summer.</p>
<p>       Taking the opportunity to use what the shopkeeper had given him, Geralt slathers his hair in the thick paste. Letting it sit for a while, as he was instructed. When he rinses it out, nothing feels different. Then again, it’s still sopping wet.</p>
<p>     After dressing himself, and taking the time to let his hair dry, the Witcher sees why the man had made the recommendation. His hair was normally a faded milk color. Stringy and somewhat tattered. Now, it was much brighter. Softer looking, and even softer to the touch. It was an amazing difference. Part of him wanted to go back and buy more. Even if he didn’t really care all that much about his appearance.</p>
<p>     He makes his way over to Jaskier’s room. Not even bothering to knock on the door. The man is a state of partial undress when he enters. Sans tunic, the bard is looking at the ruin piece of clothing with a solemn look in his eye. Damn near to the point of tears.</p>
<p>      “Oh, it’s you Geralt. Look at the state of this. It was given to me by one of my muses, you know. Pretty thing. But alas, our time together was short.”</p>
<p>“Here.” The Witcher tosses the vials at the man.</p>
<p>       Jaskier inspects them. Eyes lighting up with glee upon realzing what was in them.</p>
<p>“Thank you my friend. This will be most helpful.”</p>
<p>      Jaskier bounded over. Wrapping his arms around the Witcher. Encasing him a rather tight hug. Geralt wasn’t used to this kind of thing. He could remember the last time had hugged someone. The last time that he had any real affection. The last time….</p>
<p>    The man’s thoughts wandered. Slipping into an incoherent nothingness. Until, just for a moment, the smallest little idea crept into his head. Jaskier moved to step back and the Witcher held him there. Just held him. Looking into those deep brown orbs that would have put the finest amber to shame. Then, he’s kissing him.</p>
<p>     Jaskier’s lips are, as he expected, soft. He tastes like spring. Bright, and full of possibility. Geralt pulls him closer. Wrapping his hand around the man’s waist. Feeling the small of his back. The warmth of his skin. The sudden spice of lust that crawled along his skin. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he thought this a bad idea.</p>
<p>       “Geralt…”</p>
<p>“You can tell me to stop, and I will.” The Witcher’s words were softer than he meant them to be. But still full of the same meaning.</p>
<p>      Instead of an answer, Jaskier smiled. Wrapping his own arms back around Geralt. That playful, mischievous look in his eye. The Witcher felt his cock stir with interest. It was strange and confusing. Something that he hadn’t encountered before. Something that didn’t entirely make sense. Nor did he need it to.</p>
<p>     He kisses the bard again. Harder this time. Biting down on the man’s lower lip. Rumbling low in his throat. Somehow, in the haze of his excitement, the man’s hands find their way to Jaskier’s trousers. Fumbling with them. Trying his best to ruin what remained of the man’s clothes. Witcher’s were not known for having delicate hands.</p>
<p>      When he’s able to rid the bard of him, Geralt can see one reason why he was popular with the ladies. His silver tongue aside, the man’s cock was impressively large. Thick, and red at the tip. Leaking with excitement. Geralt gives the man several soft strokes. Watching as the bard’s breath hitches in his throat.</p>
<p>     “Fuck, Geralt…”</p>
<p>“Jakier, for once in your damn life, stop talking.”</p>
<p>      He kisses the man once more before dropping to his knees. Burying his nose into the bard’s sack. Savoring the hot, sweet musk of his cock. Jaskier’s knees nearly buckle with the sensation of it. a string of curses flying from his lips. Hands clinging to the Witcher’s hair. Holding him there. Desperate. Needy. Intense.</p>
<p>     When he takes the man into his mouth, Jaskier nearly doubles over. Geralt had never been with a man before. Never even thought about it. But this…with Jaskier…it felt damn good enough. He works the man’s cock in a rough, amuature motion. Even the women he had paid had never done this to him. So, he was only doing what he felt might have felt good.</p>
<p>        “Geralt, you need to stop.”</p>
<p>The Wticher growls with displeasure, but complies all the same. Jaskier’s toes were starting to curl. And his breathing becoming erratic. Geralt didn’t want this to end so quickly. He stands, pulling the bard closer to him. Kissing him with a certain kind of fury. It was more intense than the last, and it felt as if it was the only thing that mattered.</p>
<p>      “Bed. On your stomach.”</p>
<p>Jaskier, surprisingly, said nothing. Silently obeying Geralt’s command. It had come out more forcefully than he had wanted it to. He was more worked up than he had expected to be. Much more, actually. Geralt was feeling ten thousand things at the moment. Some of them good. Some of them bad. Some of them he didn’t quite have words for.</p>
<p>      The bard lays himself across the bed. Head tucked into one of the pillows. Prone. Relaxed. Willing. Geralt felt his cock stir with interested at the sight of the man’s ass. He had seen time in the sun naked. Given the golden tinge to his skin. The Witcher felt a certain kind of thrill at the thought of it.</p>
<p>     He lays himself across the other man. Pressing himself down. Kissing the back of his neck. Running his hands along Jaksier’s sides. It was intimate and thrilling and entirely ridiculous. Everything about this was. He was a Witcher. And Jaskier was the biggest whoremonger on the continent. None of this made any sense. Geralt found himself thinking that it didn’t have to.</p>
<p>     He kisses his way down the man’s spine. Gently. Keeping his weight atop the man. Holding him there. All the while listening to the soft, but quick breaths that came from his lips. Jaskier was just as excitable as Geralt. Which, the Witcher supposed, was a good thing. Given the circumstances.</p>
<p>     When he reaches the cleft of the man’s ass, there is a slight uptick in the way he breathes. Hesitant. Unsure. But unafraid. Geralt was hesitant as well. Forget never having laid with a man before, he had never done this kind of thing with a woman either.</p>
<p>      When he parts the man’s cheeks, he doesn’t waste time in being delicate or soft about things. Geralt runs his tongue over the man’s pucker. Relishing the heady musk of him. Jaskier makes a lewd, delicate noise that only spurs the Witcher on further. Relishing the feeling of the man writhing beneath the sweeps of his tongue.</p>
<p>     “Fuck, Geralt!”</p>
<p>“I know Jaskier. Fuck, I know.”</p>
<p>      The Witcher’s cock was achingly hard. It was beginning to hurt. Screaming for relief. For touch. For friction. To be buried to the hilt. Instead, he just presses his tongue deeper into the man. Holding down his hips to keep him in place. As if Jaskier might just decide to move away.</p>
<p>       After several minutes of it, and when the man’s hole was sloppy and wet, Geralt pulls away. Reaching for a vial of oil. It wasn’t the best choice, given that it smelled like cammomile. But he didn’t want to hurt Jaskier. And he knew such things needed a little helping along.</p>
<p>       The first press of the tip of his cock makes Jaskier jerk forward. Geralt presses down on the man’s back. Pushing in further. Achingly, torturously slow. When he’s fully seated, the man pauses. Trying his best to keep his wits. He wants this to last. When he finally thrusts forward, both of them exhale as if they’d been punched in the gut.</p>
<p>     At first, Geralt tries to go slow. To go easy. But his own self-restraint begins to diminish. Fading quickly. He grabs Jaskier by the back of his neck. Holding him down. Mounting the man like a bitch in heat. Fucking into him with hard, sharp thrusts. He comes barely minutes later. Spent and sweaty. Breathing like he’d been running for his life.</p>
<p>       “Geralt…”</p>
<p>The Witcher, while crashing, still isn’t done. He pulls out, flipping the bard onto his back. Swallowing the man’s cock to the root. Sucking him down with no restraint or hesitation. Jaskier screams in bliss. Fucking into the man’s throat. Pulling at his hair as he comes. Forcing Geralt to stay in place. Not that he minded one bit.</p>
<p>     Geralt cleans the man’s cock. Watching as he shivers. Coming down from his orgasm. Shacking and quivering like a newborn calf. He relishes the sight of it. A spent, exasperated Jaskier. Who, for once in his life, is finally quiet. The Witcher can hardly believe it.</p>
<p>    He climbs his way back up the bed. Laying himself across the bard’s chest. Kissing him softly. The heat of their fucking gone. Geralt just wants to hold the two of them together. Never letting go. And never moving away.</p>
<p>     The stay like that for a while. Sweaty. Covered in cum. Completely unconcerned with anything else in the world. When the sun falls, and the cool night air moves in, Jaskier takes Geralt’s cock into mouth. Ringing another orgasm out of him. After which he straddles the man’s waist. Fucking himself until his own. Once again, covering them in the smell of sex and passion.</p>
<p>     The Witcher, for the first time, in a long time, finds sleep rather easy. Perhaps it was the sex. Perhaps it was the fact that it was sex with Jaskier. Perhaps that it was sex with Jaskier and the fact that they did not sleep in separate beds. But he slept perfectly and peacefully. More so than he had in years.</p>
<p>     When he wakes, Jaskier is still there. Eyes closed and flittering with sleep. Geralt had never seen anything quite so beautiful. He kisses the man awake. Pulling him closer, until they were chest to chest. Hands wrapped around each other’s waists. It was perfect.</p>
<p>      “Spend the winter with me.”</p>
<p>The words came out before he had even known that he had spoken them. Jaskier’s eyes go wide. His mouth slack and confused. He could tell that the man had little understanding of what he had just been asked.</p>
<p>     “There’s an old keep, Kaer Morhen. My brothers and I stay there through the winter. I want you to come.”</p>
<p>“And they won’t care all that much about you…brining me?” Jaskier asked softly.</p>
<p>      “I frankly don’t give a damn if they care. You’re my friend. So, if you don’t mind being surrounded by a bunch of Witchers for the season.”</p>
<p>“Just friends…Geralt.”</p>
<p>     Part of the Witcher still didn’t want to admit it. That he felt the way that he did about Jaskier. Yes, they had sex. Twice. But this…this was something different. Something that still eluded words and sense and reason. All he knew that it was good. As strange as it was. As new as it was. As…magnificent as it was.</p>
<p>     “No, Jaskier. Not just friends.”</p>
<p>The bard smiles. It is bright and pure and everything that Geralt never wanted to let go of. He kisses the man again. Pulling him impossibly closer. The scent of him overwhelming. The heat of his skin. The softness of his lips. The delicacy of his fingers as they traced the shape of the Witcher’s thighs. It may have still been a little confusing. But it was also everything that Geralt never knew that he wanted.</p>
<p>    </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>That was something. I don't know if I'll write for this fandom again because, as you've seen, all my other fics are for Teen Wolf. On another note, please realize that this is a fantasy setting. And that means butt stuff magically works every time without issue. Please, PLEASE do not take the things that happen in this fic over into your real world sex life. As always, much love, and thanks for reading.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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